


In Your Blood

by Dee_Moyza



Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:14:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27377041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Moyza/pseuds/Dee_Moyza
Summary: Auden had been working as Red’s personal security detail for two months now, and she still knew precious little about him beyond his name and where he came from.Perhaps it was time to learn a little bit more.
Relationships: Red/Subject | The Boxer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	In Your Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a [prompt on Tumblr](https://deemoyza.tumblr.com/post/616239029087797248/send-a-number-or-2-and-a-pairing-and-ill-try) \- 38. "blood"

Auden stood, as usual, in the shadows, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. He scanned the wings of the stage and the empty auditorium for any suspicious activity or individuals and, if Red turned toward him quickly enough, she could catch him watching her, too. 

She wondered if these rehearsals bored him; if listening to her run through the same part of the same song for almost an hour grated on his nerves. If so, he never admitted it. In fact, he greeted her as a coach would as she walked off stage, offering compliments and encouragement with that same disarming smile she'd noticed when they'd first met.

He'd been working as her personal security detail for two months now, and she still knew precious little about him beyond his name and that he came from one of the rougher areas of Cloudbank. She did know that she was comfortable around him, and that he put her mind and heart at ease, somehow, and that she'd come to look forward to even routine rehearsals just to see his smile.

Perhaps it was time to learn a little bit more.

Red dismissed her accompanying pianist and walked toward the wing where Auden stood to retrieve her purse, and the well-worn notebook within. 

"Sounded good out there," he said.

"Thanks." She continued rummaging through her purse for a pen.

"New song?"

"Yeah, but it's not quite right. Not yet. The meter is off." She scribbled out a lyric and wrote a note in the margins with a sigh. "I'll fix this tonight. I've kept you here far too long already."

"It's no problem. I don't have anywhere else to be."

Red glanced up at him and hiked an eyebrow. Before she could stop herself, her question tumbled out: "Or anyone special to get back to?"

He chuckled. "Nope. Haven't got that, either."

"Oh. Well…" She looked at her notebook; the words swam in front of her, illegible and, for the moment, inconsequential. She took a deep breath and turned back to him with her most seductive expression. "In that case, I don't suppose you'd mind keeping me company a little while longer?"

She bit her lip to keep from laughing as a blush crept into his tanned face. "Uh, no," he said, a poorly-suppressed laugh running through his words, "of course not. Need to rehearse some more?"

"Hmm. I was thinking of something a bit more… satisfying."

His Adam's apple bobbed. "Really? Like what?"

He looked like a cornered animal, his dark eyes wide and questioning, his lips flickering between a perplexed frown and mischievous grin. Red couldn't contain her smile any longer.

"Food," she said, slinging her purse over one shoulder and grasping his wrist. "I haven't eaten since this morning, and I'm starving. There's some really good places over in Goldwalk; let's go!"

She pitied him his confusion, but figured that if she wished to know more about him, it was only fair that she reveal a bit of herself, as well. And beneath the glamour and elegance of her stage persona, Red had a significant mischievous streak and a love for the kinds of food no one should eat on a regular basis.

He expressed surprise at the latter when they sat down at a table inside Junction Jan's. "To be honest," he said, "I figured you'd go for the more high-end places."

"No way. Their portion sizes are insulting." She punched her order into the tabletop terminal, then turned to him, her finger hovering above the screen. "So, what would you like?"

"Oh, no," he said, hitting the 'Enter' button and beginning a new order for himself. "I refuse to be indebted to anyone, even if it's just one meal. I'll buy my own."

"A whole flatbread for yourself?"

"Don't worry about me. I'm a big guy; I can eat a whole one, and still have room for whatever's left of yours."

Red smiled sweetly. "Who said there'll be anything left of mine?"

He grinned back. "I take it you like the food here."

"I love it! But not everyone appreciates that. Gus—my manager, you remember him?—is always reminding me that I have an 'image to uphold.' And when he's not around, Sybil gladly takes over for him."

"That Sybil. She seems a little… overeager."

"She means well." Red took a sip from her glass of water. "She just has a problem with boundaries."

"I'll say."

"I think she wants to help so badly that she takes on work that's not hers to do. That's just her way. I've heard that she and Niola Chein get into some pretty intense arguments whenever there's an event here in Goldwalk." Red shrugged and traced the rim of the glass with her fingertip, irritated that the conversation had turned to Sybil. She saw enough of Sybil on a regular basis; she didn't need her intruding here.

The next few minutes passed in awkward silence, until a waitress stopped by the table to deliver their flatbreads and drinks. Red unfolded her napkin and caught Auden staring at her flatbread, his eyebrows raised.

"Supremo Deluxe," he said, nodding approvingly. "You don't mess around!"

"I told you I love the food here. And yours… Sea Monster?"

"I like seafood. Grew up eating it. The Baysign Diet, if you will." He gave a half-hearted laugh. "The thing about the sea is, no matter how poor you are, it won't let you go hungry." He regarded his flatbread for a moment with a subtle frown before shaking off whatever troubled him and digging in. 

"So," Red began, moving a slice of flatbread to her plate and seizing her opening, "you like seafood. What else can you tell me about yourself?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. I'm just an average guy."

"Well, for starters, what kind of work did you do in Baysign?"

"Low-paying, low-security jobs. Mostly on the docks, processing hauls from the fishing boats, cleaning the fish for market, that kind of stuff." He finished off his first slice. "They kept a roof over my head, but barely, so I took up boxing to cover my other expenses. I liked it and I was decent enough at it, so it worked out, kept me afloat. Not everyone's so lucky, especially if you don't want to get into the murkier parts of the business."

"Murkier parts?"

"Fixed fights. I knew a guy who made some hefty paychecks throwing fights, enough to move to a nicer part of town, but I… I couldn't see myself doing that." He took another slice. "Not necessarily from a moral standpoint, but because the thrill of boxing is in the act itself, in trying to beat your opponent. This guy would brag that he could pay a year's worth of rent just by lying down, but lying down doesn't strike me as something fun. To each their own, though, right?"

Red didn't hear his last sentence, as she had abandoned her slice of flatbread for her notebook and was jotting what he'd said onto a blank page. _Lying down doesn't strike me as something fun._ There was defiance in those words, whether Auden had intended that or not, and she could feel the seed of an idea sprouting around them, other lines unfurling like tiny leaves, quicker than she could write them down. She felt him looking at her, and raised an apologetic hand, focusing on the page before her until she had a coherent, if sloppy, base on which to build a song.

"Sorry about that," she said, resuming her flatbread. "I just had an idea, and if I didn't get it down right away, I was afraid I'd lose it."

"Don't worry, I get it. I wish my brain worked like that." He smiled. "It's amazing to watch, actually: a songwriter lost in her craft."

"Not so amazing when I have to interrupt conversations for it. But I really can't help it; I guess it's in my blood." She paused a moment, thoughtful, then leaned forward. "So, what's in yours?"

"What?"

"What's in your blood? What's something you love, something you're drawn to, something you can't imagine living without? And don't you dare say fighting!"

"You're really limiting my options, then."

"Come on, there has to be something else. Take your time and think about it." She rearranged the toppings on her slice of flatbread for better balance, then took a big bite, watching him all the while.

He winced and shifted in his seat. Did he really have as few options as he suggested? Did he prefer not to share something so personal? Or was he simply not used to others taking an interest in his life? Finally, he exhaled slowly and nodded to himself.

"The sea," he said. "I've been close to it my whole life, to the point where I get a little nervous in neighborhoods where I can't see the water… not that I visit those kinds of places that often. But like I said earlier, the sea doesn't care if you're rich or poor. She'll take care of you—or drown you—just the same."

"She sounds consistently fickle."

"Thankfully, she tended more toward nurturing in my experience. Then again, I never went out to sea in those fishing vessels. The fishermen probably have a different story to tell."

"I can imagine. All right, what else is there?"

He raised his hands in front of him. "Oh no, you only mentioned _one_ thing."

Red laughed. "Fine, I'll add another: linguistics. Words and language, where they come from, how they work and evolve, and how meanings change over time. How some words harken back to concepts we don't even understand today. How there seems to be a cultural weight to them that no one can remember. How powerful they are, for good or for ill, and how easy they are to use, but so hard to get right." She sighed. "You must think I'm crazy, going on like this."

"Not at all. What got you into it?"

"I'm not really sure. I think it started with my writing. I wanted to learn how to communicate better, more succinctly, and then I realized how many words we use every day that we have no recollection of learning, and no etymology of. We're saying things to each other that we don't fully understand ourselves, but for which we've all seemed to agree on a contemporary meaning, regardless. Which words have been dulled, and which sharpened, and is there something in us that remembers their original power, something that _reacts_ to it?"

"Something that could lead to a riot, you mean?"

Red's eyes snapped up and she saw him watching her with a sad smile. Was she really so transparent? Her love for words would forever be linked to the incident during her performance that night. She'd been careless, reckless in pursuit of a genuine reaction from her audience, flinging words around like lit matches. It was only a matter of time until something caught fire. She'd learned, in that moment, the true power of words, and vowed to be more careful with its application going forward. She'd learned to work in defiance without provocation and to couch bitter truths in sweetened rhymes.

"Yes," she admitted, "exactly that. I've had to be more careful—thus, creative—in my songwriting since then. But my fascination with words remains. I think it always will." She took a bite of cooling flatbread, then brightened. "All right, now it's your turn. One more thing that's in your blood."

Auden's obvious discomfort returned, and he thought for several minutes before shaking his head. "I know you said not to mention fighting, but I can't deny it. It's in me, it's who I am."

Red frowned and opened her mouth to assure him it was fine, but he continued before she could speak.

"Not only the physical, violent fighting, though. Not just throwing insults and punches, but _fighting_. Fighting for what you want, fighting for what you have, fighting to survive. Fighting to get somewhere, to get _out._ " He turned away from her gaze, his expression darkening and his jaw set. "Fighting to be somebody. Someone who matters."

She looked at him, at the storm raging in his features, and felt a sharp twinge in her chest. It wasn't fear, and it wasn't pity; it was _anger_. How dare he think so little of himself! How dare he believe he didn't matter, when he was here right now because Red had personally chosen him for the job, because she felt safe and calm around him! When he was strong and resilient and encouraging and friendly; when he had the whole of Cloudbank to prove wrong by thriving despite his beginnings, and reminding them of the democratic ideal they claimed to uphold. 

How dare he sell himself short, and ignore the qualities she'd found in him, in the time they'd known each other. How dare he dismiss her favorable judgment!

She took a deep breath to calm her anger and reached across the table, sliding her hand over his. She felt him flinch, and when he looked at her, she met his eyes.

"You already are," she said.

He stared at her, the complex mix of emotions still playing across his face. Then, laughing softly, he turned his hand over to give her fingers a gentle squeeze. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"I'm still a fighter at heart, though. I'll take my punches, but I won't stay down."

Red nodded, her nerves set alight by this extended contact, her pulse pounding in her ears. "Because lying down isn't much fun, right?"

"Exactly." The storm faded from his eyes, and he released her hand. It took her a few moments to pull it back, and they both stared at their half-eaten flatbreads in silence.

"I might not throw a fight," Auden said at last, "but I can admit when I've met my match. Maybe I'd better get the rest of this to go."

"Good idea." Red flagged down a waitress for a pair of boxes, her hand still warm from Auden's touch.

"So," he said, "sufficiently satisfied?"

"Quite." Even as she boxed up her slices, the ghost of the pressure of his fingers around hers remained, giving rise to hunger pangs of a different sort. "For the time being."

"Are you suggesting we'll do this again?"

"Would you mind?"

"Not at all. And maybe next time, I'll have a few questions of my own. You see, there's this woman—you might know her: red hair, creative, obsessed with words and flatbread—that I'd like to get to know a little bit better."

Red laughed. "She sounds like a stunner."

"Oh, yeah." He flashed that brilliant smile again. "She's a total knockout."


End file.
